


that's the kind of love i've been dreaming of

by arekiras



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: 5 Things, Bad Cooking, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Dates, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Other, Post-Episode: s02e34-35 Juno Steel and the Soul of the People, for now, sophie and kevin be gentle with me challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 05:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20754905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arekiras/pseuds/arekiras
Summary: Five times Juno and Peter don’t  go on a date, and one time that they do.





	that's the kind of love i've been dreaming of

I.

Juno doesn’t usually like going undercover for a job. Too many ways for it to go wrong, too much to remember about his alias, and acting has never been his forte. He’s really more of a “kick the door down, gun blazing and bleeding heavily from a stab wound” kind of lady. That said, he would pretend to be a different person every day of the week if it meant Peter would keep looking at him like this. 

The Roses are making another appearance, because, as Buddy had put it, “It’s ridiculous to let a solid married persona complete with documentation go to waste.” 

They’re sitting in a restaurant on one of Jupiter’s moons, which is the only building on this particular moon at all. The restaurant has ten tables made entirely of precious jewels and no menu. Instead there are what must be over a dozen bite sized courses paired with a swallow of different wines. 

The course sitting in front of them now is an emerald green beetle. When Juno taps his spoon against the hard shell, it cracks neatly, allowing a creamy broth and assortment of tiny leaves to flow out. The flavor is a little tangy for his pallet and the wine is almost tasteless. 

Peter hasn’t even looked at his plate, busy as he is studying Juno. He’s wearing a blood red dress with a slit up the side, showing where a garter is holding his stocking up high on his thigh. The neckline dips down to his sternum and his neck is slung with a number of different jeweled necklaces. His lip stain is gold and matches his shining false eye.

“You’re staring,” Juno says, sipping his tiny serving of thin wine. 

“You’re beautiful,” Peter counters and Juno suppresses his blush with a firm glare. 

“Don’t you have other things to be watching right now, Nureyev?” Juno arches an eyebrow and Peter grins lazily, glancing over Juno’s shoulder at their mark, seated with his own date a few tables down. 

“He doesn’t like his dish, he’s been pushing it around his plate for three minutes,” Peter reports. 

Juno fingers the small signaling device in his clutch, shaped like a tube of lipstick. The only way to hack into the mark’s server is through a complicated program Rita created that requires her signal to be within a range of fifty feet to work. Juno didn’t understand most of what she told him, he just knows that his job is to hold the not-tube of lipstick and hope Rita doesn’t trigger any firewalls. 

“We should do this more often,” Peter says, reaching across the table to hold Juno’s hand. 

“What, eat food so expensive I think my tastebuds are going into debt?” Juno says, but it’s with a smile and a squeeze of Peter’s fingers. 

Peter laughs and shakes his head. “Spend time together, just the two of us.” 

Juno leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Only if it’s as Peter and Juno, and no one else,” he murmurs. 

Peter’s smile softens from amusement to adoration, a look Juno is unused to on anyone’s face, especially aimed at him. It makes his stomach flip pleasantly. “Deal.”

Just then, Juno’s earpiece (disguised as a rather elaborate cuff) crackles to life. “Hey boss? I think we have a problem.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow as he gazes past Juno again at their mark, but otherwise his facial expression tells Juno nothing. He can hardly turn around in his seat, so he hisses, “What is it?” 

“I’m pretty sure I tripped this guy’s security. _ Aaaaand _I think he mighta noticed,” Rita says worriedly. 

“He _ is _looking rather red in the face, and I don’t think it’s the food. Can you still get what we need?” Peter asks. 

“Well yeah, ‘course I can! But it might take longer than you have before he finds out where the signal is coming from,” Rita explains. Juno looks down at the clutch in his lap, containing the secret lipstick shaped device. 

“He’ll know it’s us either way. This isn’t really the kind of joint where you can just get up and walk out without anyone noticing,” Juno grumbles, eyeing the hawkish maitre’d across the dining room. 

“And we were having such a nice evening,” Peter says, feigning moroseness, but his mouth is twitching around the edges. He loves a good escape and Juno knows it. “Ready to go, dear?” 

Juno sucks down the rest of his watery wine and nods. “Ready.” 

II.

_ Peter hears it, faintly, as if from a great distance. Juno calling his name, somewhere deeper in whatever building they’ve found themselves in. A dark, winding place with narrow hallways and no windows. There will be a door and the only thing beyond it is another gray hall, seemingly identical to the last. _

_ Juno calls his name again and he sounds wretched, like the shriek is ripped from him by a harsh fist. Peter has never heard Juno make a sound like that before. It’s louder this time and Peter calls back. It comes out a hoarse whisper, the air trapped in his lungs. _

_ He reaches a dead end and a door, but leading in the opposite direction of Juno’s voice. Juno screams again wordlessly. Peter can feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as he tries to call back, but again Juno’s name remains lodged firmly in his throat. He tries to run down the hall but he just continues his slow, torturous shuffle, hands dragging along the metal walls as his muscles burn and strain with no results. _

_ The tears spill down his cheeks now as Juno screams continuously, wails broken by coughs and two cracked syllables that must be Peter’s name, but they’re unrecognizable. Finally, Peter reaches another door, Juno’s voice bouncing around behind it. It’s locked tight, no knob or activation panel in sight. Peter slides to his knees against it, listening to Juno’s shouts and his own strained efforts of responding. If Juno can hear him, he gives no indication, and Peter cannot muster strength enough to do any more than knock his head against the metal door and weep. _

Peter wakes to the sensation of choking, his eyelashes glued together with tears. He coughs and sniffles, gulping down a breath of air as his entire body shakes with the strain of trying to move while paralyzed by sleep and his crying. He coughs again, throat crackling with tears and snot and spit. 

Juno shifts beside him, sitting up on his elbows and turning his head. “You alright?” 

Peter intends to say that he’s _ fine, Juno, go back to sleep _ but the words don’t come. He sniffs. Juno rolls onto his side with a groan, groping around until the lamp by his side of the bed bursts to life and Peter winces at the sudden brightness. 

Juno squints his eye at Peter blearily and frowns. “You look horrible,” he says. 

Peter huffs out a wet laugh. “Just what every man loves to hear,” he says. Juno only clicks his tongue and scoots closer, pressing his front against the line of Peter’s body. 

“Nightmare?” Juno asks. Peter hums and they both move until Peter is curled inward, folded to rest his head on Juno’s chest and drape his arm across the soft expanse of Juno’s stomach, listening to his heart and feeling his every breath. 

The tears abate after a few moments and the embarrassment creeps in. Peter lets out a self deprecating little laugh, patting the wet spot on Juno’s sleep shirt that has developed under his cheek. “I think I got snot on you,” he mumbles, beginning to move away. 

Juno tightens his grip just a bit. Not enough that Peter couldn’t continue to move, but enough to indicate that Juno doesn’t want him to. He shrugs. “I can wash it.” 

“I’m not usually so,” Peter doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, so he just waves his hand around vaguely. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Juno replies dismissively. 

“Really, this is-” Peter begins and Juno nudges him. 

“Just let me hold you, Nureyev,” Juno says, exasperation tinging his voice. 

Peter blinks, but relaxes into Juno’s embrace again. Juno leans his cheek against the top of Peter’s head and they rest like that. If Peter asks that they leave the lamp on, no one has to know but them. 

III.

It had started innocently enough. As it turns out, with how much travel is involved in intergalactic thievery, Peter is a bit of a stream buff. Nowhere near as intent on them as Rita, but he has a few favorites that he wants to introduce Juno to. They waited until everyone else cleared out, and then commandeered the media room, armed to the teeth with snacks and a small pile of blankets. 

By the end of the first episode, Juno was straddling Peter’s lap. The intro theme to the second episode begins to play, but Juno’s attention is split between Peter’s teeth against his lip and his hands worming beneath Juno’s worn long sleeved shirt, one threatening to edge beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. He’s just considering whether or not he should suggest moving this _ somewhere more private _when Peter dumps him to the side and unfurls a fluffy blanket over them both. 

The confusion has just enough time to abate for a tinge of hurt feelings to set in when Rita shuffles into the room, hair hidden beneath a silk scarf and fuzzy robe wrapped over her pajamas. 

Juno feels his face heat up, but Rita can’t possibly see it in the dark under the glow of the stream. “I thought I heard the theme song! I love this one,” she says happily. She goes to plop down next to them, but then stops, a sly smile playing on her mouth. “I’m not _ interrupting anything _, am I?” 

Juno is about to say _ yes, please fuck off _, when Peter shakes his head and goes, “No, of course not. Please join us, Rita.” 

Rita claps and wedges herself between the two of them, monopolizing the blanket. “The costumes could really be better, that fashion was way out of date by the 22nd Century,” she remarks, leaning past Juno to grab the bowl of popcorn. 

IV.

Juno comes into the kitchen to the smell of something burning, and badly. He covers his nose, wincing, and edges around the corner. Peter stands, still in his pajamas, waving his hands frantically at a pan on the stove which is brightly ablaze. He reaches for a half full glass of water on the counter and splashes it on the contents of the pan, leaping back with a yelp when the fire bursts with even more life. 

Juno shoves Peter out of the way and grabs a pot lid with a pair of tongs, sliding it onto the burning pan and smothering the blaze, waving his hand in front of his face to try to disperse some of the smoke, grateful that the fire alarm on the ship is broken after some mistaken tampering on Jet’s part. 

“Peter, what the fuck?” Juno coughs out, reaching for a towel and waving it at the black smoke still pouring from the burnt contents of the stove. 

“I… thought I’d try my hand at breakfast. Clearly it didn’t go as planned,” Peter says evenly. 

“You started a fire,” Juno says blankly. 

“I tried to put it out!” 

“You can’t dump water on a grease fire! You have to smother it,” Juno squeezes the broken bridge of his nose. 

“And now I know that. You truly do learn something new every day. Incredible,” Peter leans against the counter casually, as if the edge of his silky nightie isn’t blackened with soot. He turns his gaze down after a moment. “I wanted to do something nice.” 

Juno edges closer, taking one of Peter’s hands. “I appreciate the effort. Just leave the cooking to me, from now on?” Peter nods. “Pancakes?” 

“That would be nice.” 

V.

Juno, in his years as a cop and then a private detective, has almost worked stakeouts down to an exact science. His first rule is that they are strictly a solo activity. After a few hours in a car, staring at the same street, even the closest of friendships can get strained. 

Still, Peter had insisted on accompanying him. “This is hardly my first time, detective,” he had said, breezing past Juno toward the junky car they had picked up for the occasion. “It’ll be fine.” 

That was six hours ago. Now, Juno’s ass is asleep, the coffee is long cold, the snacks are nearly depleted, and Peter _ will not stop fidgeting _. He gets it, really, he does. They guy has a hard time keeping still. He has to have something to do with his hands. First, he was flipping his butterfly knife around, but the constant flashes of light against the blade had been distracting, so he stopped. Then, he drummed his fingers, but that gets old fast. Now, he’s scribbling with a pen on a piece of paper (a menu?), and the scratching noise is about to drive Juno insane. 

Luckily, Peter notices the tick in Juno’s jaw before he has to be an asshole and say anything. The doodling stops. Juno thinks that might be it, and relaxes. 

A few moments later, Peter breaks the silence and makes Juno jump. “So,” he drawls, “this is cozy.” He drapes an arm across the back of Juno’s seat. 

Juno blinks at him once. Twice. “Do not,” he finally grunts. 

“What?” Peter says, but he’s grinning like a cat and his eyebrow is quirked, pulling on the small scar that splits it down the middle. 

“Do not try to put your moves on me right now. We’ve been breathing each other’s stale air all day, I am three minutes away from an apocalyptic cramp in my leg, and I’m just not in the mood,” Juno snips. 

Peter blows out a long, irritated sigh. “_ Fine _, I just thought a little activity might be nice,” he relents. He sits back in his seat and stares resolutely out of the window. The tapping starts again. Juno wants to scream.

+1

As they walk around the park, Juno feels more and more awkward. He’s wearing a sunny yellow dress and a floppy black hat and carrying a picnic basket in the crook of one elbow. His other hand is latched around Peter’s, their rings clinking together. Peter is wearing a new shade of soft purple lipstick and Juno can’t help but melt a little every time they meet eyes. 

But still, in the back of his mind, he thinks, _ Is this really me? _ Is he really a lady who is allowed to have a picnic with someone he loves? 

_ Loves _. He tries not to dwell on that particular thought, because now they’ve found a shady spot under a tree and Peter is spreading out the blanket on the grass and throwing himself down. He manages to make it look graceful and Juno suppresses a grunt when his back twinges on his own way down. 

Peter offers Juno a half of a cheese sandwich and twists the cork out of the sweet wine they picked up a few planets ago, pouring it into two mugs, because they were the only cups clean when they were packing the basket. 

Juno takes the sandwich and sits quietly, listening to the birds, tilting his face up to meet the foreign sun. When he looks back to Peter, he finds that Peter’s already watching him with a wobbly sort of smile on his face. 

“What? I got something on me?” Juno asks, brushing his fingers over his face to free any remaining breadcrumbs. 

“I like this,” Peter says, nudging Juno’s leg with his toe. He’s taken his shoes off, wearing only his mismatched socks. 

A shard of doubt softens in Juno’s chest. “Me, too. It’s nice,” Juno says, “being here. Just the two of us.” 

“Careful, Juno. Say many more things like that and you might ruin your rough detective image,” Peter warns, beaming. 

Juno lifts one shoulder, sipping his wine. It’s a little sugary for him, but Peter likes it. “I’m not a detective anymore.” 

Peter doesn’t reply, but his smile stays, and he tips over onto his side on the blanket, hair brushing against Juno’s thigh. When Juno slips his fingers through the strands Peter worms closer, reaching into the basket and popping a few grapes into his mouth. 

The sharp discomfort creeping up Juno’s back settles as Peter leans closer to him, the casual touch as soothing as the warm sunlight above. It _ is _nice, being here with Peter, relaxing as if they’re the only two people in the universe that matter. Like they have all the time they’ll ever need and there’s nothing more urgent to do than doze at the park. Like Juno deserves this, like he doesn’t have to earn every gentle brush of his fingers through Peter’s hair and every soft word they exchange. 

“We should do this more often,” Juno says quietly and Peter hums in agreement. 


End file.
